The Chosen One Unknown
by Britt601
Summary: Post DMC4. Uncertainty a constant companion, grace under hardships an often presence, pride an event barely unknown. A life once forgotten must be embraced should she walk free, with limitations, into the future. VergilXOC, Dante.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Devil May Cry or its characters. They belong to Capcom, unfortunately. Nor am I making any money off of this work of fiction. It is purely made for fun.

**The Story**: This little piece of fiction has an OC in it as well as Vergil...and Dante...and small appearances from the other cast of the DMC series. And other OC's as well. So please, if you are the type to hate every OC in the existence of writing, use the back button to find another story. Thank you.

There will be a slight amount of themes of the African/Voodoo religion. To the best of my ability, and that it flows with the story, I will explain them to you and provide info on it in my profile, if you are interested.

**Story Tidbits**: OC name pronunciation : My-shay.

Adinkra: Uh-deen-kruh

Ingonyama: In-go an-ya-mah

Nkyinkyim: Neh-key-in-key-em

Aya:Eye-yah

Afya: uh...af-ya

Sorry if any of you broke your tongues trying to pronounce those words (sheepish grin)

**Stats:** un-Beta'd. 12 ½ hand-written pages/11 pages typed.

**Final Word**:Well then, read on!

* * *

The Chosen One Unknown

Small, clear droplets of rain hailed down onto the city. The dark grey clouds casting a thick sheet over the expanse of its citizens, enveloping the area in tones of the damper hue. People of various cultures moved as one to retreat from the falling force, scared to be soaked to the brim now that their shopping adventures were cut short. Some sought out refuge under canopies while others hurried to their cars, eager to escape the onslaught before it progressed for the worse.

One being in particular seemed unfazed by the wilting weather sitting on a bench, to the layman, seemingly watching the world roll by, gazing out straight in front of her with eyes glazed over. Cracked exhales were long and drawn out, inhales crisp and sharp. Knuckles turned white from the solid grip under the bench with which she used to steady herself back in reality. Darkness consumed all vision around her until her sight opened up into the standard setting; _it_ started to happen again. An episode of hallucinations had hit her without caution, exposing her vulnerability out into the public eye; the unknown presence of the deranged kind took possession of her mind, forcing her to endure its questionable will. She wasn't herself in that moment, a deep, demented entity infiltrated into her body and projected _its_ sight into hers. Common it was to see the warped perception every time for the past seven years.

There was a man; tall, tanned and shirtless with ebony hair and glowing, avocado green eyes. His leer salacious, uncaring and cold while his eyes burned holes into her. His smile malevolent, promises of dreadful harm a definite act to be carried through in the immediate future. Out of her peripheral vision in her delirious state, she could see intricate symbols of some kind carved along his torso, some high-lighted in green coloring, the rest were coated with specks of white and black. He inhabited a built structure, not overly muscular but had some definition on him from what she could make of it, towering over something as he fixed his stare intently at it. Except this thing that he gazed at made her look _at _him from her perspective, like he lived as an entity _in_ her mind. She peered down at the rest of him, a bit of difficulty ensued for she fixated on his pupils; eyes beheld at the mercy of his gaze. But of what she could see were his hips moving in a rhythmic motion, thrusting in and out of something.

The first time this instance occurred she thought to have been daydreaming; thinking of someone to satiate a becoming, lustful hunger growing out of her then-teenage years, and his presence persisted as to what her visual mind made up. In the event that she kept having this same experience however, did she not think it so. And it _scared_ her; inclining towards a premonition foreshadowing this vision taking place down the road. What exactly did this signify? Did it have something to do with her dementia? And if so, why did this action take place at any given moment in her life? Whether it maintained something simple akin to taking a shower to running daily errands, it always hit her when it was least expected.

The obvious option rested to see a psychiatrist, again, to diagnose what her problem presented, howbeit these episodes lasted on an average of one to three minutes. Looking back on her past, her and her double entity, more commonly known as a twin, had had enough of going to these "doctors" when she was a youth. Caution-heeding, "eccentric" occurrences were experienced in her childhood, and she prevailed the one to provide insight about it to her 'family'. Being a twin automatically meant that visions and thoughts were shared amongst one another, correct? They, in turn, insisted that the twins undergo as many mental treatments as possible to cure this problem, with her twin showing 'great results' interim the treatments, supposedly, didn't work on her. She'd like to think that they did work at _a_ point in time, though these recurring images proved otherwise.

When the ordeal transpired into its last stages, the black-haired man would dissipate from her view, fading away like a slideshow blotting away its final presentation.

Rapid intakes of breath descended from its original pace; the tight hold around the bench loosened from its strong death grip. Blood pooled back into singular digits, prompting her to outstretch her hand and reel the fingers back into a fist; the soothing action repeated a couple of times, sight slow to blink back to consciousness. Brown eyes closed for a moment, relishing in the sensation from being released by her tormented vision, taking in a long, deep breath to compose herself before she went back to her place of employment.

In the happening that she underwent this affair, she took off outside to tough it out, the rising feeling of a claustrophobic atmosphere coming to the forefront whenever it happened. Such a thing held almost a ritual then, for after the circumstance came her only anchor back to normality.

"Hey Maisha." A woman called out from the store's entrance, head turning to the left to see the woman in question on a bench. "There you are girlie. Are you all right?" The female, 5'5 with a caramel complexion, came to sit next to her. Halima remained the only person Maisha inhabited comfort with, and the only person she talked to about her 'problem'.

Her companion looked out into the colorless landscape, tightening her sweater around her for a chill tore through her skin. The rain pelted down relentlessly, coming down harder and harder with each passing second. Thunder roared and rumbled in the distance, igniting dormant fears into its remaining citizens scurrying about. To punctuate mother nature's sudden fury, several streaks of lightning coursed through the sky, some people shouting out in fear for the loud boom echoed with a violent strike.

"Ooh. Someone must've made momma nature a lil' pissed today, huh?" Halima's voice had specific, southern accented words in her speech, family hailing from the heart of Louisiana and naturally, it followed. Originally her thickened accent made it difficult for others to understand her at first, yet as time went on her words took on a more subjective "normal" tone. An angered or emotional Halima brought the original accent back, nonetheless.

"Yeah, it was in the upper eighties all week, and now this all of a sudden." Maisha rubbed her palms over her black jeans, looking at her light-blue button up shirt, sneering a bit for her work uniform reminded her of where she is and what she had to go back to. "But yes girl, I'm okay, for now at least."

"Were you having one of your..."

Maisha gave a blank nod, taking in her bottom lip and chewing it lightly. Halima had first witnessed this matter when she found her at the women's bathroom sink one day, looking upon the girl in the restroom mirror with a spaced out visage. Halima tried approaching the woman by calling out her name in foresight. When she came to stand beside her and saw her presence go unnoticed, she resorted to shaking the woman, realizing her results succeeded to no avail. She pondered what medical ailments she experienced, torn between leaving her there and going out to call for help. Questions probed endlessly for her next course of action; she didn't remember the supervisor briefing them on what to do when an emergency struck. Would she be in danger of fainting or would she snap out of it? Was she having a moment to herself or was this something more serious? An instant later, as if nothing out of the ordinary just occurred, did she slowly see her come out of her eccentric reverie, resolute to know what that was all about, and determinedly, adamant to keep it between them.

"How long did it last for this time?"

"Probably...I don't know...three minutes at best."

"So they're gettin' longer?"

"It all depends on the dementia's mood, I guess." For the longest, that's what the doctor's called it; better to just leave it be than to go to the hospital to find out any "improvements" on her condition. She hated going there, from the physical check-ups to the stories of malpractice and the staff that reinforced those methods; nothing beneficial came out of going to these medical facilities from a young age, at least for her it didn't.

Maisha started toying with her red-orange, wavy hair, the other hand coming up to quickly itch her left-shaved head, the right side of her head had her hair concentrated in that spot. Ever since her youth, her family, mainly the elders, always criticized her and her 'mother' for not dying her hair to a more appealing color, for they felt that it matched horribly with her white-peach skin. Despite the fact of them _knowing_ that that had been her natural hair color, they felt the need for her to look normal since her childhood antics scared them. It only made matters worse that her twin looked the same way.

"You need another moment, hun?" Halima moved closer beside her, rubbing her back in small circles to offer comforting support. As good as it felt to have a little massage right then and there, she couldn't have her mood further spoiled by her ass of a supervisor.

"No," she lightly moped, reeling back her irritated mood to let the "cordial" one shine through. "Delaying from going back in there will only make matters worse. Don't need Matthew barking down my back."

The man in question burdened the cause of their dread in coming to work during the week; young temperamental, and secretly sexist. His father _was_ the supervisor of the place some months ago and hired his son when the position became available; Matthew thinking that he had ultimate power over all the employees. And just matching the arrogant hot-head he abided by, trouble followed him and his immature ways; Halima and Maisha capitalizing on a particular...stealing-money-and-liquor-from-the-st ore...situation to use against him should he pester them beyond reason. Ideally, neither woman cared for their jobs but it attested to be a decent one given where they lived.

"Oh please, like he'll be stupid enough to muss with us."

"But that's it Hal, he _is_."

Both women shared a hearty yet bitter laugh at the memory. Maisha stood up to stretch up high, moving to get some feeling back in her bones from sitting in such a high-strung position. "Is it your turn to be on break?"

"Nope!" Halima shook her head, giving a naughty, smug little look to the red-haired woman. "Ugh, unpackin' those canned goods are chewin' through my patience, had to take a break before I went on break." Sitting comfortably, she huffed a strand of black hair out of her face, red-tipped at the edges which stopped at her shoulders. Her hair rolled into a ponytail, made that way so that it wouldn't annoy her throughout the day, unlike the fiery-haired maiden who always had her hair down. But it existed that way to hide a certain, peculiar "birthmark" situated on the right side of her neck. A birthmark that _strongly_ resembled ancient, African Adinkra symbols used to symbolize aphorisms and meanings of life, well, at least the swirly-looking birthmark did.

Even though she had one of her own, willingly _tattooed_ on her shoulder, of the independent symbol of Aya, Maisha was _born_ with an Adinkra symbol on her neck, or it at least closely resembled the visual style. On the top near her ear was the symbol of a lion, Ingonyama it's called, if her memory served correctly. And the bottom Adinkra mark was the twisting symbol of Nkyinkym, enduring hardships while being graceful about it...or some shit like that.

Her grandmother delved into these types of "voodoo-isms" as a child and some of them stuck with her to pass onto Halima. Come to think about it further, their parents must have had a _fondness_ for naming them after African heralds as well. To some (and she's been verbally insulted from their opinions about it), it would be foolish to name their child after something that the culture may be offended by, but obviously that wasn't a concern their parents held, at least in the sense of Maisha's. Halima's made sense for her grandmother remained an influential figure in the practices, dealing with these sort of aspects and Maisha's...didn't.

Depending on the area or the region, Maisha Afya's name translated into the phrase " a lifetime of health": Maisha meaning life, afya; health. And Halima's, for the record, meant gentle and kind; something she got tired of being since people thought her to be a weak little flower, hence the tattoo to tell people that she is anything _but_. Nevertheless with the two symbols (the lion representing strength and health) added to her name's betoken, it added on a more "supernatural" allusion than anything.

_A lifetime of strength and health under hardships with grace and poise_

This phrase came to its conclusion one day, Halima's grandmother reminding her of its symbolism, and the lessons she forgot, and what would come of it. Dazed proved to be the holding expression to best describe the woman's reaction to hearing about her birthmarks, a solemn look flitting across her features for the phrase must have triggered an unwanted memory to the surface. When probed further about the speculation of their origins, she played innocent. The woman stayed true to her words; she didn't know how it came to be there or the reason for being born with them. The family, when Maisha asked at a young age, shrugged the question away or ignored her, giving the impression to appear irritated or nervous whenever the question arose. Her silent mirror image didn't worry about it much, then again her quietness led some to believe that she _chose_ to be mute, to be oblivious to even the most dire of situations.

What Halima knew for sure about the woman survived her stubborn willpower. From the little bits and pieces she collected about her past, Maisha always looked for an answer when things turned crummy, and often they did. She found the possible in the impossible, never allowing an oppressive atmosphere get the better of her. Just like her dementia. She never dwelled on it, accepting this illness as a part of her life, causing her to find a solution after it lasted to get herself back on track. In the form of dismissing the whole instance as if it never happened became the norm for her; Halima wishing she could tell the woman to seek help but felt that it wasn't in her place to do so.

"Hey girlie." Maisha started walking back into the store, stopping when she heard her name. "Don't overcharge the oldies now, you know they're gullible you seed of greed."

"Oh come on, Hal. You know that's my specialty. It's the only way I stay alert in this hellhole!"

* * *

The rest of the day turned out slow; Halima and Maisha taking turns at the register, stocking and unstocking foods, cleaning the restrooms, and sweeping up the aisles. Maisha's last rotation on the register endured a boring venture, waiting there idly until her shift ended at 9:00 p.m. Ozone and pollution blended together well to waft into the store, leaving a heavy, humid scent for all to endure right when they walked inside, intending to follow customers all the way to the check-out. The few consumers had came in to buy a few sparse items: soups, teas, milk, chocolate syrup and the like, and when they were ready to make their final purchases, they wanted to chat the world away with her. While she didn't give two shits about any of their stories, it did help pass the time for the most part.

An elderly woman in particular, thankfully story-less, nettled her to the fullest. Maisha had wrung up several food items, all to which the old woman demanded a price check to ensure that she wasn't being swindled. The cashier, as tempting as it came to over-charge the woman, didn't have it in her to play around so close to going home.

The elder had this irritating hand gesture, waving it around as if she were to chop through a cinder block; those claws making an attempt to scratch her eyes out should she dare to lean forward. It made her black-dyed, shoulder-length hair shake into her wrinkled face, aging somewhere into her late sixties. To add to Maisha's frustration, and her nerve to close down the register, the woman produced her handful of coupons to her 300 plus items, all of them being out of order.

"Ma'am, are you aware of our coupon policy-"

"No and if you did have one you wouldn't have asked me about it because I would have known. So now can you make this quick."

Some indescribable feeling prickled her insides, rising like a tidal wave to submerge rational thought deep under its force. However, before the ship of logic sunk into a temporary chasm of darkness, she came back from the feeling with a calm disposition...albeit ready to snap.

Maybe she would allow it just this once, in the silence of her mind.

She knew that the woman lived up to those stingy, ornery folk. The kind that probably lived all alone old and bitter; the ones who sneered and griped every time a small child came into their vicinity. If she assumed this correctly, though she didn't care to confirm, what was she doing buying all this food? Her figure leaned on the hefty side, but appropriate for someone her age. Be that as it may, the lime t-shirt, tan capris, black fanny pack, and matching gladiator shoes didn't help support the claim about her figure. To further brew her limiting tolerance, the items that went along with the coupons were all spaced out. Some already down the conveyor belt, some waiting to be purchased and some still in the basket.

The woman looked upon the youth's face, not caring if she looked to curse her out or the fact that she stared. Her job entailed to ring up the groceries and that's it. Her grey eyes soon rested upon the cashier's vibrant hair, momentarily engrossed with the styled cut before giving a dismissive blink. She could be one of those women who listened to that heavy rock music; one of those degenerate boyfriends that abused her in some way, probably threw away her virtue by being an unwed mother. Those were the only types to work in places like this, after all.

But oh, that hair color clashed _horribly_ with her blue shirt.

"You get a lot of attention with your hair."

"Mm hmm." The cashier replied, moving the least amount of facial expressions possible.

"...You should dye it to a more appealing color-"

"You should let your gray hair grow out." Maisha sudden to cut her off from saying anything more, barely keeping her temper at bay from lashing out at the woman. Her brown eyes bore into the elder's, silencing her from speaking should Maisha stop servicing her. Seeing how the woman behaved she had doubt that the action wouldn't faze her in the least. "Isn't that why you dyed yours black? Because the grey is unappealing to you? By the way, you should go to a professional; your roots are beginning to show."

The cashier continued on as normal, grouping the misplaced items together as best she could before the coupons were used. Even going as far to hum a jazzy tune to keep her mind focused, glancing a look at the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes. She had twenty minutes until she retreated to her own abode and let the stresses of the day flow out her body.

Dark and gloomy weather often associated with depression, anger and hopelessness. Somehow, in Maisha's mind, the elder woman thought it hopeless to look as eye-catching as she existed, anger welling up inside her for her days of prettiness were over, leaving a forlorn depression in its wake. That's the only explanation she could come up with for her grumpiness. She didn't do a _single_ offending action to the woman, yet she treated her with hostility. Well, bad for the old lady and _good_ for her.

Maisha loved her round baby face, deep-set eyes , neat nose and uneven lips; the bottom one much fleshier than the top. She favored her C-cup breasts and the slender waist below it, which then swelled again to a rounded belly, above thick thighs. And, undeterred by the harrowing memories of the bodily changes after puberty, the low self-esteem, and the teasing from the other girls, she grew to embrace her pear-shaped figure. She didn't spend the last four years trying to accept her natural looks just for someone to _knock_ her down about it.

After pairing the items with their respected paper savings, reigning in her bursting feelings, and calculating the total price ($131 for 315 items, not bad!), Maisha glanced at the clock again, eight minutes until she left this economical prison and crashed asleep to her recessive freedom. It seemed like a long time, but she had one more customer to attend to, then she'll be free. She had ignored the woman's gaze ever since, refraining from giving the feisty granny her best shit-eating smile just to rub it in her sour face.

"Thank you for shopping at Oppy Foods. Have a nice day!" She gave her best mock smile instead, the one where it displayed her irritation and loathing, only it came in the form of white teeth and lips turned upwards at the side.

"Hmph." The old woman gave an ill-natured expression, turning up her nose at the cashier despite only being an even 5'4, and waddled on to bagging her groceries. How that little woman carried on to put all her groceries in that one basket and lug it to her car...Maisha didn't care. Helping the elderly to their cars applied to her job descriptions yet she had seven minutes to go; Matthew stingy in paying the workers for any overtime. If she helped the woman and it went past her working schedule, no monetary payment would be shown for her extra efforts, so the lady would have to struggle. Her attention turned back to ringing up the next items, noticing a smaller batch of things that she gave a thankful nod to.

"Ah, the old ones are full of spunk and vivacity, huh?" A masculine voice aired out his question laced with traces of amusement.

"By spunk and vivacity meaning they forgot to take their Ritalin? Oh yeah, I agree."

"Heh, you went in a little tough on her, don't cha' think?"

"She was tough on me before she even got into my line."

Brown orbs looked up to meet with iceberg blue ones, piercing into her with captivating intensity. She fixed upon his smiling face, strong jawline and chiseled cheeks. He had a small trace of bearded hair going across the bone structure and a faint goatee. But what caught her attention, and should've been the focus of the old woman initially, was his _white_ hair. He had it layered, bangs parted to the right as the hair stopped at the nape of his neck. By heavens, she had never seen hair so vibrant of a color. There belied the transition of hair color change when one grew older, ranging from grey to the color white itself, but those colors _paled_ in comparison to the hue that he sported...and he didn't look anywhere near old! There held a certain boyish charm that his aura emitted, balanced out with this mature aloofness he displayed so easily. He wore a black leather jacket with a red shirt and some kind of black, cowboy belt that held up some dark blue jeans. That man knew that he looked good in such a get-up, sporting it with high authority while he stood there. And though conceited men never left a lasting impression on her, she did make the exception to those who could prove their ego to the better.

"You rung that up three times already."

"...Oh, huh? Oops, sorry about that." An item of a tea box, silver white needle, happened to run across the scanner three times under her assessment of him. Her fingers swiftly pecked on the keyboard in front of her, deleting the scanned item all together before ringing it up once again correctly. The other objects went across the red light with no more interactions between them, mainly for the reason that he stared at her. Not on the basis of the male drive to take in her physical appearance, but trying to see into her _past_ her looks...or maybe he just looked to look. Observant reposed the word to describe people like that. The ones that could remember every little insignificant detail about your habits. Could figure out your emotions and fears and toss them back into your face, if they were the vindictive type. Or use a chance to manipulate feelings and bend them to their will, crushing self-confident desires to be wiped away like dirtied shoes on a doormat. In another sense of the word, they could be seen as _bullies_.

Maisha finished scanning the items, knowing that a slight blush had creeped onto her cheeks. "Okay sir, that'll be $22.04"

"22.04?" The man looked down at her with a questioning glance, appearing a little suspecting of her calculations. "You took the tea thingy off, right?"

"Yes. That item is on sale this week and it's $3.50 per box." So close to getting off work, she didn't care to double charge the consumers, at least not the ones who kept their eye on the register.

"Hmm, I don't feel like making you ring up the stuff again, uh, Ma-isha." He looked on her name tag for longer than he should have, then resorted to giving her a smile.

"It's Mai-sha. And I don't think I should uh...ah-"

"Dante."

Hmm, that name suited him she realized, after staring at those white teeth for a moment longer. Yet something about his smile unnerved her, leaning towards the prospect of him being a predator of the sadistic type. She didn't know what gave off that feeling initially, but he sure did wear it like a perfume.

"Dante." She said once, clearing her mind from any straying thoughts, determined to sort out his problem with the price total. Her mind mentally recalled the items he had with skills honed over time: tea, $3.50; box of soap, $2.50; lemons, four for $1.00; honeydew melon, $2.98, kiwi, three for $1.00; cantaloupe, $1.98; Monterrey Jack cheese, two for $9.00. Ah, that's what it was. The cheese made his price go up, not to mention that bothersome eight cent tax for the non-food item.

"Well Dante, you can thank those two cheeses that knocked up your score some."

"...How'd you guess that?" He leaned in a bit towards her, intrigued that she didn't even look at the screen to determine the mistake.

"Working here for a couple of years has given me this unique gift to remember what's on sale for the week. Add that to the sale going on for seven days, me being at the register and unboxing the food..." She waved her hand in a motion that meant to convey a repeated cycle, an action that took place during her five work days. He made a show to get the hint, scrunching his lips together before he sent a nod her way. She continued, "Living on sales and bargains is what I strive for, even more so now that I'm grown."

Some emotion flitted across her pretty features, Dante squinted to zone in on the target to decipher what it could be. However as soon as his eye detected the movement, she gave a dismissive blink, mouth turning into a smug smirk that looked too practiced to be natural. There held this certain quality that she had, a confident fire that arose out of a hidden, dark nature that took care to be protected, guarded as though her life depended on it. Did her parents have a part to play in her statement or was there a more twisted side to her meaning? Was there a certain survival ethic she had to adhere to while being all on her lonesome? He wasn't one to intrude in on people's lives, just that she had this magnetic fire that he couldn't quite explain the reason being drawn to it, partially.

"Yeah, nothing like a bargain to make you feel like a winner. Alright lil' lady, you've convinced me." Dante pulled out four five dollar bills and a single, patting around his pockets to see if he had any more spare change for the entire total. He really did believe that his whole cost would come out to under twenty dollars. Maybe he should let her ring everything up again, just to make sure...

"Since I'm feeling a little generous today, how about I pay the dollar and nickle for you."

"What makes you think I ain't got it?" Dante raised his eyebrow at her, a bit insulted that she assumed he wasn't financially sufficient in paying for his products...though correct, at least in that moment. That damn hunting brunette thought that he walked around with an ATM sign on his head, much to _his_ annoyance.

Maisha simply pointed to a wall, Dante following a finger to a clock, 8:57 meeting his line of sight.

"So this has nothing to do with hurting my pride at my inability to pay?"

"...Wait, you don't have enough to pay?" It was her turn to raise an eyebrow, asking with an amused tone as not to hurt his feelings.

"Yeah I do. _Actually I don't_. Just that the spare change is in one of these pockets of mine. _Or rather in Lady's_.

"Oh I know." She dug in her front pocket, withdrawing five singles that were all wrapped up in one. She separated two of the bills from the rest, taking his money and putting it in the register. "The male is one of the most disorganized species on the planet." She gave a sweet smile to mean that she meant no harm in the statement, but in her experience, they were.

Ninety-six cents came out of the transaction, in which she held the money out in the front of him in a friendly gesture. He smirked but lightly shook his head, stepping away to bag his items. _Your pride is not getting in the way, buddy_! The cashier grabbed the front pocket on his jacket and pulled him closer, giving him a wry look before shoving the receipt and change into the little space. Two pats were given to his breast pocket, the woman turning to shut down her equipment.

"I'm pretty sure that was illegal. Sure you're not worried about your boss catching you giving-"

"The boss can kiss my fat ass for all I care. It's Friday and I am out of here."

Dante gave a hearty chuckle at her determination, seeing how her mentioning of her posterior drew his eye south to her curves. True her hips stuck out from the rest of her body, which was _no_ _where_ near a bad thing, but the blue shirt she wore was a bit too big for her, looking more like a pajama shirt than anything for the working girl; preventing him from properly taking in the full foundation that existed her figure. Even though she indicated that her shift just about came to an end, he had to get home to his own abode and take care of his responsibilities. Would be nice if he could walk her to her car and possibly get her digits...

"Besides, the next time you come here, you can have your money right at the ready."

"That's actually not a bad idea...I'll try that."

"You'd better."

The cashier watched as the man went down the aisle, pushing against the conveyor belt pad while readying the brown paper bag to be filled. He inhered quite the charmer, a gentleman with _gorgeous_ features, tall and strong with confidence soaring to the highest high.

The kind she...loved to stay away from.

For some reason, those 'types' brought trouble to anyone that were fool enough to become ensnared in their charismatic trap. These 'types' used this façade to hide their monstrous personalities, able to make someone feel anxious and muddled, as miserable and worthless as she used to feel after a loathing strapping from her 'father'.

Shaking those sordid memories from her past, she started walking towards the employees room, nearly jumping in surprise for the old woman gave her a cold look, energy focused solely on her like she was the only other being in the room. Two men, looking in their forties, had since appeared to help with the items. Honestly though, the woman insulted her without so much as a second thought, and when she showed a bit of backbone to her statement, the old wench had the nerve to be mad at her? Well who cared. She was on her way home to plop down face first on her bed. Good times were bound to be plentiful once she rested on that nest of plush pillows and soft sheets.

And her attention was nearly taken away from her goal, calming down her riled up nerves at the indignant use of the 'bitch' word to justify the elder's opinion of her when she walked past. The best course of action to take simply involved ignoring her and continuing on with her day. However she couldn't let the woman disrespect her like that, regardless of the age she appeared to be, resorting to such childish tactics like she didn't know any better.

Or in the beginning stages of growing senile.

Strands of red-orange waves were fingered through, extending the tresses all the way out before the base of her roots were grabbed, shaking the mane in front of the jealous woman with a haughty smirk etched onto her face. This notion showed every sign of embittering the expression the senior's face, Maisha seeing the woman follow her out of her line of vision. She reached the door, intending to turn around give the woman another glimpse of her envious beauty when another pair of eyes caught her attention.

The handsome fella, Dante, seemed to have enjoyed the little show, amusement settling onto his features as he continued stuffing the brown bag. He gave her a knowing looking before he shook his head, white tresses falling over his eyes to hide the expression from her. It was then she decided to disappear behind the door and complete the final act of shedding "off" her working demeanor, letting out a small laugh for Dante insinuated to share her sentiments on the situation.

* * *

**A/N**: Hm, give you guys half of the first chapter or break it up in two? Eh, I decided to go easy on ya!

I wanted a beta for this story, but when I went searching for one they either: hated OC's, weren't on here anymore, **only** took anime shows (bleach naruto...why you'd put down DMC then?), hated OC's, wanted to write the story themselves (not leave suggestions...write the story as THEY see fit), seemed unfriendly overall, hated OC's, only catered to one character, didn't know about the series (facepalm), and...hated OC's. I have a quirky sense of writing style that I want to keep, but needs a little toning up, which is why I'm scared to have a beta cuz' I don't want that aspect changed, but I want to do an awesome story.

So, I guess...I'll try my best to deliver a story worth reading...I hope. Drop me a line and tell me what you think!

~Links are in profile about the symbols.~


	2. Late Night Escort

**The Story**: This little piece of fiction has an OC in it as well as Vergil...and Dante...and small appearances from the other cast of the DMC series. And other OC's as well. So please, if you are the type to hate every OC in the existence of writing, use the back button to find another story. Thank you.

**Story Tidbits**: OC name pronunciation: Mah-su-zi

A subscript is in the story and its definition will be in the author's notes.

This is originally Chapter 1, but it was too big so it was split into two.

**Stats**:Beta-Lohce Azcry. 7 ½ pages hand-written/10 pages typed.

**Final Word**: Get ya' readin' on!

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Late Night Escort

Four minutes passed since she grabbed her purse and coat, 9:01 showing up on the clock while she walked towards the door. Halima disliked the fact that she went home an hour later after her; Matthew saying something along the lines of "balancing out the schedules" with their limited staff. As a result, Maisha made it a habit to call the woman half past ten every night, more of a means to make sure she made it home safe than to say good night; thanks in part to the bizarre cases of murder infiltrating the area as of late. Well, _this_ part of town had always been riddled with murders, just that they seemed to be making their way closer and closer to her. The area in which she lived in wasn't necessarily _that_ defective, but it could stand a few more city upgrades. Like streetlamps. Streetlamps would be a major improvement to that dark abyss that was her street. When an opportunity arose to move to a better location, she would jump at the chance to do so, but the duplex she lived in did have an _affordable_ monthly rent payment...

Her arms swiftly slipped into the white jacket, holding it closer for the temperature seemed to have dropped ten degrees from earlier, the rain pounding the ground with its relentless shower. The truck that she drove was a Lexus, parked at the back of the lot because the manager complained that those spaces were reserved for the customers. Like they would flood to this area to shop here and like he actually gave a shit where they parked.

The street lights around the lot were dim this time of night, even darker now that the rain clouded the illuminated surface. The space viewed vacant, save for a few sparse cars. The human species deserted this location, no one lingered around and very little traffic passed by. Her cheap work boots were destined to soak through to her socks; the puddles too deep to avoid and her car too far for the inside of her feet to remain dry. Her hoodie found residence on top of her head, scanning around the area to see the safest way to proceed onwards.

Vaguely her conscious grew aware of three figures in dark clothes by the baskets. At first glance she thought of them to be her male co-workers but they wouldn't take a break so close to getting off of work. Scents of an herbal essence swirled in the atmosphere, Maisha covering her nose for the smell enveloped her in a nauseated state; bringing forth the feeling of a delirious nature.

The group chatted amongst themselves until their attention spanned in her direction, words becoming lower and fainter until it all but stopped. No need for alarm though, they were probably just some under-aged brats sneaking out to hit that kush[1] late at night, in the cold, out in the rain...with no one else around. Perhaps they were waiting on someone or waited out in the cold for it to die down some prior to trotting off. Whatever the case may be, she felt fine with them being there as long as they didn't _bother_ her before, during, or after she made it to her car. But why did they stop talking when they took notice of her?

She turned to face them, briefly observing that all three were fair-skinned, paled beyond reason thanks to the frosted air taking away the warmth of their blood; she probably donned the same look as well. What had turned out to be a quick glance at the trio deviated into a staring contest, Maisha's nerves starting to ignite on fire for a terrible feeling launched within in her, gnawing steadily at her conscious. Upon closer inspection these fellas appeared _much_ older under the lights, two of them with mustaches and one with a goatee. Her earlier thoughts seemed invalid at the moment; these men carried a questionable air and it made her a bit anxious to get out of their sight. Presumably nothing to fret over, but killings did frequent around the radius of her residence and she could never be too careful about anything.

Withdrawing her car keys from the coat pocket, she clicked the container of pepper spray open, thinking to gauge their intentions and see her open exits to escape, if the situation shifted to a grim ending of course.

She started walking at a brisk pace to the left, removing her hood to listen to the rhythmic slush steps of someone walking.

Shortly thereafter, she heard the footsteps.

Three distinct steps melded together in uneven movement, each step taken accompanied by the wet grains on the ground. Shoes scratched the surface, collectively crunching the dirt particles closer into the sidewalk. _Shit!_ Her plan had been to walk to the left to see what they might do, then turn out onto the parking lot and run to her car. The woman didn't expect them to walk so soon after her, and their strides sounded adequate to catch up to her. Or maybe she over thought it, they may have moved to go into the store; the wind shifting to the north to enable the rain to intrude on the dry walkway.

Maisha looked into the dark, reflective glass of the store window, seeing the three figures pass the store entrance and follow in her footsteps.

A cold tingle soared down her spine, breath catching in her lungs prior to a sharp exhale forcing its way out; a cloud full of white smoke left behind to drift away in the wind. Her right hand unconsciously came up to cradle her heart; the muscle felt to have jumped the pulses per minute to somewhere in the upper hundreds. Palms began to sweat while brown eyes searched for an escape route. The other shops must have closed up early today due to the weather, otherwise she would have waited in the doughnut shop until the owner could (hopefully) see her to her car. Police calls were just about pointless in this part of town, an individual survived on luck if they got the patrol system out here, give or take in the response time of twenty minutes. Turning back now would make no sense, unless she wanted to ask them the reason for following her.

If their plans involved harming her, she could always bump against one of the few cars to set off the alarm in the parking lot. Surely someone would come out and help her in her desolate situation, right? Either way she looked at it, she was trapped with limited options of escaping. To the front of her a dead end, to the side an open landscape to be captured and the back held those three. So little options to execute a limited evacuation.

She passed by the last column of the store, leaving the safety of the sidewalk to turn in preparation to sprint to her car. Another dark figure came into her view, leaning against a hot red muscle car, looking straight out into the nearly pitch black distance. Obviously a planned event from the start; the men were practically herding her in this direction anyway with the getaway car already set to go.

"Well now, looks like you are in a hurry to get home."

_Hey, I know that...Wait a minute, is he still here?_ She knew that voice. She heard it not too long ago. Yeah, that awfully handsome guy, Dante was his name. Relief washed over her being like a calm flood, but it dried up as soon as the fear came back, wondering his reason for being out here this time of night.

Dante turned around to face her, wearing a black beanie this time, and continued to proceed with his tactful fixation of her. A moment later he looked over her head, Maisha following suit to see how soon her pepper spray would have to be used. Behind her left an empty scene, devoid of the three goons following her. Did they...happen to stop behind the pillar and wait for an attack or were they not with Dante? She would have heard them run off scared, the noises of the wet, grainy ground too loud to sneak off of quietly.

"You walkin' in this type of weather," he asked, voice growing louder to speak over the abrupt thunder rumbling in the sky.

"No just, uh, I went over this—my car is way over...over there."

Something spooked the girl silly, those questionable assholes of course, and he thought it mighty chivalrous of himself to watch her, at least for a moment until she went on her way. When he first came out of the store, there wasn't a living soul standing around in the dank weather. By some force of trickery, a common familiarity in his line of work, did these perplexing men _appear_ out of the blue, or black in this case. Intrigued, he decided to stick around for a sec to see what these individuals were up to. Mighty senseless to be out in this cold weather just for the purpose of leisure; something about them just seemed o_ff_, though he couldn't place the reason he felt that way.

The feisty elderly woman came out first; the two men that tagged along with her went to put the groceries up in her old Cadillac some feet away. In their absence, she fumbled to get something out of her purse, small little widgets of stuff falling out to swirl about in the wind. She seemed oblivious to the things slipping out of her mobile locker, including a five dollar bill blowing in the wind his way (to which he happily pocketed) but bent down with a swiftness even more surprising, to pick up her pink-colored lipstick. In the process of her helpers being away, this vulnerable act would have prompted immediate action from the group to take charge, although this wasn't so. They ignored her.

Three minutes later brought about a similar scenario, Maisha standing outside all on her lonesome, taking notice of them and then trying to test what they intended on doing. Perhaps the reason they followed was that she appeared by herself and unarmed, small little thing like that would fall prey easy. However an old woman, much more shorter and fragile than she, would have gone down twice as easily. It even may have been the beauty factor. Maisha's features wove together to make her a pretty little thing, a curvy one at that, and it might be hard not to stay away from her unique features. To do what with those features...Dante didn't want to know.

Unless if _he_ had a little 'play time' with her then...okay.

"Where's your car?"

"In the back."

"...of this lot? Why would you park in the darkest―"

"My boss is a dumbass. Complains that customers don't have access to quick shopping if we all take the closest parking available."

"Uh-huh. And when is this place packed?"

"On the first of every month and on holidays."

"Today's the ninth.

"Yeah well, tell him that."

The woman stood there unsure of her next course of action, shifting from foot to foot; the rain came down in powerful waves, drowning out amplified sounds even to the easy of hearing. It will mean so much to her if he could walk her at least halfway to her car, even watch her to make sure she safely got in it. There existed a gander as to whether the men hid behind the column or if they had back tracked into the store.

Maybe even pulled a Houdini.

"Need a lift to your car?"

_Dear Heavens yes!_ "Uh, um I would..."

He sensed her trepidation, nervousness fleeting all throughout her form for she didn't know how to respond to it. She probably thought he affiliated himself with those hooligans or had reservations about hopping into the car with a complete outsider. Both were valid precautions to heed, though he was on a bit of a time constraint and he needed to get back home.

He and cold weather weren't the best of friends so walking her in this weather―nope, out of the question. He also didn't feel like watching her speed walk to her car, maybe wait there for it to warm up, or even stay to see if the thing started.

"Come on, I'll give you a lift over there to save you the trouble."

Brown eyes focused upon him again, pleading to him her need to get safely to her car, but wanting another solution of doing so that didn't involve hopping into a stranger's car. Granted, he did seem like a genuine guy and all, but he's a foreigner to her. She might feel much more comfortable if he could just watch her until she reached her vehicle.

"If I watch you to your car, I won't be able to save you from those three dudes in time. At least not without pulling out a weapon."

That didn't help convince her on the matter.

This guy carried a weapon? Sure there were people who packed heat (and who wouldn't in this town), but he didn't have to tell her that. And what would happen if she got in the car then, huh? Pull out his weapon on her and signal for the other three to move in? What if he wanted to drop her instead? Inasmuch, how long did he wait out here to notice those guys? She sighed in thought, biting her lips to keep from making an impulse decision. She watched the shows; dozens of women getting "help" from these strangers in unknown places, and then the women went missing, often sometimes raped and killed because they were helpless to begin with. Yet she had her pepper spray as her defense mechanism. Knowing this brought a _small_ sense of relief to her, but she needed more convincing, on his part, to drive her over there. Still, that niggling feeling in the back of her head said that this guy, this Dante was too good to be true. What spurred this feeling on endured the fact that he knew, at least she hoped, what those men were up to and the fact he said he had a weapon.

Damn it, why was this so hard of a decision to make?

If he had any foul advances towards her, she could always hop out of the car and phone Halima for help.

_Halima_.

Oh she felt so _stupid_ now. Why didn't she go back inside and tell the woman to watch her while she walked to her car in the first place? The smart thing to do clung to thank the man for his offer and to phone her friend instead. But what of those three men? What if Dante drove off and they attacked her before Hal could get to her in time? What if the woman didn't answer her phone or turned it off? The risk perdured too great to ignore if she waited, but the sooner she left the better. Honestly, her options were entirely gone.

Slowly she moved to the passenger side of the car, Dante already opening up his door to rev the car to life. She took another glance behind her, readying her keys and the pepper spray should anything to her dislike go down. Her mind kept chanting the word '_stupid'_ over and over again, berating her for her lack of common sense for opting to go with this man. Her life lingered into the hands of this foreign stranger and there was no definite foreshadowing of him keeping true to his word.

With the handle to the Copo Camaro grasped to push the door knob in, the door opened outwards while her left leg stepped inside the car. Her heart sped up a couple of notches for this rode on her last chance to turn around, the last chance to secure her life in her hands. Taking care of herself stood upon something she had built over the years, using various ways and methods to ensure that her eyes opened the next day. Pride reposed something she knew when to let go of and when to preserve, knew when to bend to it and when to stand against it. And in this particular notion, she all but ignored it.

She climbed into the seat, joining her right leg with her left to move over to the door handle, pulling the door closed with her hand and leaving it there while she stared straight ahead. A warm, gentle breeze blew on her, her body ensnared in goosebumps to warm away the cold. She wanted to scoot closer to that warm air, yet stayed rooted to her spot because of her paranoia of his every action.

An awful roar made her jump out of her seat, armed at the ready with her forefinger pressed on the switch of her spray. Eyes bulged out in expectance of some great hulking beast to leap out at her. Her can aimed at one of the air vents, not really knowing where the sound had come from but not letting that deter her.

Headlights appeared; the interior of the dashboard lighting up, music of the heavy rock kind easing through the speakers. Maisha looked around with her eyes, circling around the spacious area until they landed on her, hopefully, temporary savior.

Surprise consumed his features, eyebrows disappeared under his beanie, piercing blue eyes turned from surprise to confusion to concerned...for his car smelling of soiled onions and pepper. He looked at her for a bit longer, his right hand slowly coming up to timidly grasp her alert hand, lowering it into her lap to calm her down and patting it to stay there.

"You are one jumpy little thing aren't you?"

"Sorry I just...I'm a little-"

"I know, I know," he said, placing the same hand on the back of her head rest to look behind him, backing the car in reverse in a swift motion. "I'm a stranger, you don't know anything about me, we don't know each other, I might be a serial killer...blah, blah, blah." He turned out of the parking space and rotated the wheel straight, neglecting to make a left to where her car parked. All the warning bells went off simultaneously in her head; her natural reaction to defend herself because the worse seemed prone to happen.

"Relax." He bumped up the flow of the heater a notch, adjusting his beanie a little so that he could see more. "I'm taking you around cuz' I don't feel like going through all those car 'bumper' things like a maze." He scratched the side of his face in contemplation, before adding in a little quip of his own. "Though if it gives me a chance at saving a _fine_ lady, I don't mind."

All she could do in return was smile, giving a short chuckle to go along with it for her nerves were damn near shot. She stole quick glances of him out of her eyesight, looking at his side profile and how gorgeous he rested on the eyes. Men aren't naturally that handsome, at least the ones she ran into, and if they are, there happened to be a woman there to tidy him up, maybe the possibility of him being gay?

Or he was a gigolo.

"You are shitting bricks, girl."

"What gave me away?"

_The scent of your fear is nearly suffocating me_. "You have a death grip on the door."

Hn, well that's funny, because she could have sworn that he didn't look over here at her since he moved her hand from the vents, and she didn't grip the door until he made a wrong turn from where he parked. Or perchance he did and she just didn't catch him looking over at her.

Thankfully, much to her satisfaction, he turned in the back entrance of the lot, Maisha torn between reaching over and hugging him or hopping out the car while it still rolled. He pulled up to her driver's side, turning the radio down some before he saw her off.

"I can't thank you enough Dante, really."

"Ah don't sweat it. Can't let the lovely ones get mauled and maimed if I can help it."

Despite the obvious compliment paid to her, there contained a rather solemn look behind it, eyes appearing much colder than the warmth it exuded minutes ago. And exactly what did he mean by 'if he can help it'? Did he hang around in dark areas where women were positioned and then escorted them when safe; to somewhere safe? Was he some type of officer in disguise or something? If he happened to be an off-duty officer he could have told her then and there. Why be so secretive? Hm, perhaps he didn't want to tell her out loud in case those goons realized his ploy. Still, he could have shown a badge or something, even give her a wink to play along with the scenario.

"Are you...an officer or something."

"Eh...I guess you can say that...of a particular _unholy_ sort."

"Unholy sort?" She scoffed a little. "What, like ghosts and goblins? Or are they just assholes?"

"All three wrapped into one."

She thought about that statement for a brief moment, wondering the accuracy of his words or if everyone in this town was a bit loony. Creatures that went bump in the night only existed in one's paranoiac mind, sights and sounds of on unsure intuition filled its person with an unnecessary fear. Shadows in the night were _nothing_ more than the moon light casting complex figures that appeared like monsters on the walls. And if there chanced upon a figure's shadow moving, it more than likely belonged to some mugger or criminal staying close to the darkness. Animals were common in the moonlit shadows, they can take part of the blame for the disfigured sights on the walls as _well_.

Or did this prove to be something she told herself due to her own experience with the things that held a presence at night? Memories of a past wanted to be forgotten poured into her mind, overflowing with images of ghoulish faces and eerie voices only thought to exist in the fictional world of movies. A product of countless scares to her mother and many spankings from her father. Many visits to the head doctor and various, high dosage pills to take. An abundance of rumors spread around town and a multitude of harmful teasing gestures that followed. Her only sanity, her only confidant that she could go and cry to was her own flesh and blood. It's a shame really, the time when she needed Masozi the most stumbled into her ascension into teenage hood; the time when Masozi decided to disappear.

Shoving the rest of her childhood in her mental prison, she offered her temporary savior a genuine smile, thanking him once more as she closed the door and climbed into her own truck. The truck lit right up, the woman rubbing her hands together to knock the chill off, moving to turn on her own heater prior to the cold freezing her out completely. Eyes glanced into the rear view mirror to see the red car pull off, later turning around to face the exit the way he came in. Oh great, now he would wait on her? The gesture much appreciated, but she's a big girl. She could more than handle herself...when she isn't outnumbered...at night.

Backing out of the driveway had its difficulties due to the clouds hiding the natural light of the moon and the dim streetlamps providing less coverage; the man with the iceberg eyes having to back up to keep his front from being hit.

Warm, breezy air flowed from the vents, circulating the feel-good air throughout the truck. She could feel the warmth teeming back into her body, feeling more conscious and alert of her surroundings. At least she would be if it wasn't so dark.

The car's brights turned on, illuminating about ten feet worth of landscape for her viewing. She pulled out of the lot and went to the first stop sign, her "officer" pulling up beside her in the oncoming lane. Both windows from opposite cars rolled down, the respected drivers leaning towards the other to hear over the wind and rain.

"You take that ass on home now, ya hear."

Maisha bursted into a flood of giggles, smiling bright and wide for she felt relaxed and at ease, ensured that her survival would be kept in tact for another day, all in thanks to him.

"Oh I plan on it." Nevertheless her suspicions laid open a _little_ underneath her gratitude. Those men had...somewhat up and disappeared all of a sudden? They couldn't have. They were either too scared to attack since Dante showed or...something else deterred them from their plan. But she wasn't out of the clear yet. All the same, it seemed unlikely now, what if Dante had followed her home, or told one of his lackeys to do it? Was he really her rescuer or he just kept up the façade? She didn't have any more reason to worry, it all sounded a bit naive to believe that he hid behind false intentions. The aspect of kidnapping her desired be a simple matter; the weapon he claimed to have could have been used to scare her into submission.

Then again, for all she knew, he could have been joking about having a weapon. Sometimes people bluffed to appear all big and bad.

"And where are you going?"

The man seemed to be focused on something in his rear view mirror, Maisha looking into her own to see what he saw, but the rain heavily clouded her vision. Perhaps he caught sight again of those dark figures and...his protective instincts began to show? Whether he did or didn't see them, it carried out the time for her to head on home, safe from this treacherous area.

"Well, I can't thank you enough for what you did today. Hope to see you around."

His eyes flicked back over to hers, expression changing from stern to soft when she spoke. Indubitably he engrossed himself with whatever caught his attention back there for he resumed observing in the mirror. And she felt the need to leave him to it.

Taking a brief glance in his direction once more, she pressed on the gas and accelerated forward; fading away into the darkness, Dante's car lights dimming the further she traveled. He correlated to that of a mysterious person, walking along the line of fiend and friend yet she couldn't place the reason why she felt that way about either word describing him. There exhibited a warm generosity he expressed so casually, hiding over this ominous-like interior that had a presence all on its own. Like a sociopath that could blend well in a stand out society, depending on the situation. Furthermore, wasn't he the one who said that he was an officer, dealing away with those of the "unholy" nature?

Shaking those questioning thoughts away before her old memories escaped again, her main objective focused on retreating to her humble abode, mentally thanking her night customer for his good and thoughtful graces. Her turn came up, Maisha slowing the car down to see Dante...still in the same place where she left him. Curiosity ebbed at her conscious to see what had happened but logic stepped in, telling her to leave him be and to truck it on home. Despite the good Samaritan role he played, she couldn't shake the feeling of bad vibes pouring off of him, like the bad guy _who _tried to play good.

When she reached the corner, the horn honked twice in a final goodbye. Due to the noises nature belted out, she didn't think that he may hear it at such a distance, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

Hands smoothly rotated the steering wheel to the left, right foot lightly pressing on the gas when a heavy beep sounded off somewhere behind her. So he did hear it after all. If he was in some sort of trouble, he would have flashed his brights or honked like crazy, right? However, he could take care of himself and it bordered on the time she did the same. Maisha glanced in the mirror for a final time and smiled as the car veered onwards, soothing jazz music drowning out nature's becoming wrath while she drove on home.

* * *

"Ugh, finally. Home sweet fucking home!" The woman kicked off her shoes eagerly, shedding her jacket and unbuttoning her her blue blouse, trudging up the stairs to where her grandiose bedroom resided. It was here she reigned Queen, creating a room all her own to reflect that.

Deep burgundy drapes enveloped the room in near blackness, a matching king-sized bed added to the abstruse lair of dark grace. In the far corner by the window stood a rich, dark oak desk and chair, _littered_ with personal items of perfumes and the like; the desk serving as her condiment stand for personal hygiene. Opposite her bed rested a walk-in closet and next to her bed, a door to the simple but elegant bathroom.

Frosted green-polished toes connected with the soft beige carpet, persuading her to walk in a straight line to her bed instead of changing out of her damp clothes. Inviting as the idea sounded, she had the task of making sure Halima made it home safe. No matter how tired she felt, how exhausted, irritated or sick, the only woman that she gave a speck about received her concern about her well-being.

Opting to head into the bathroom first, she opened the door and nearly slammed it shut, shuddering violently due to the window above the bathtub left wide open, allowing in the damp-smelling air to infiltrate into the space. Reaching under the vanity, she took out a floss stick and her mouthwash, preparing her nightly routine before her soft bed soundlessly rocked her to sleep. The sound of buzzing distracted her from her teeth cleaning, running out the little room to grab her cell phone, minty fresh toothpaste drooling down her mouth all the while. Thankfully, her phone let her know that no talking needed to be provided for a text showed up. The phone slid open to read a text-message from Halima.

_Matt-boy is a bitch! Made it home safe. TLK 2 U 2morrow. Txt me bck I'll kill U XD!_

Maisha produced a small grin that faltered just as soon as it appeared, a nice gooey blob poured out of her mouth and on her t-shirt. Setting her phone back down on the bed, her feet rushed back on the cold white-tiled floor, washing the fluoride gunk out in call its entirety. Another breeze shot through into the small space, reaching up to slam the window shut.

Nightly regimen completed, including a nice scrubbing of the face, she slid on a new black t-shirt and some plaid pajamas pants a bit too big for her, but she didn't care. The temperature dropped down to the lower forties and it might be damn near suicidal to sleep in next to nothing.

Hazelnut assuaged her senses as soon as she dove under the cover,s the sheets on which she were on top of were cold to the touch. Despite how thick her blanket was, it couldn't give her the immediate warmth that she craved. A bit peeved at the coldness surrounding her, she jumped out of bed and looked in her closet, pulling out a brown blanket to put over the blanket she had.

Resuming her place in the much warmer space, Maisha moved around until she felt comfortable. A wave of calmness soothed over her body, easing her to relax into the mattress while the weather raged on outside. Lying there made her think of the latter half of the day, more importantly, the scene outside the store.

If Dante wasn't there, she didn't know what may have happened being all alone out there. Calling Halima would have taken too long, and a high doubt lagged that she couldn't fend off an attack of a least one of them, let alone _three_. Oh how she so wanted to ask the reason why Dante was out there, but the sudden pressure of anxiety weighed down on her shoulders. After all, in spite of what had happened, did it really matter now since she was safe and out of harms way?

Languidly her arms stretched over her head, relieving the last amounts of tension she forced onto her body. On the chance that such a similar case went down again, she would know the precautionary measures of its prevention: parking her vehicle right in front of the store and leaving it there until ready to leave for home.

"Matthew can kiss my fat ass for all I care. No one shops at that shitty ass store anyway." The reassuring thought brought a smile to her face, breathing slowing down for sleep started to pull her in, the pitter-patter of rain droplets rhythmically pounding against the window, aiding sleep to take control of her.

* * *

**A/N**: [1] kush-slang for marijuana, weed.

I know ya'll wanted to see Verge, but he'll be in the next chapter. He wasn't ready to make his entrance yet...

Not much to say here, other than to thank my beta for looking over the chapter and giving some pointers!

I bid thee farewell (for now) so drop a line or two and tell me what you think!


	3. I Hate to Care

**The Story**: This little piece of fiction has an OC in it as well as Vergil...and Dante...and small appearances from the other cast of the DMC series. And other OC's as well. So please, if you are the type to hate every OC in the existence of writing, use the back button to find another story. Thank you.

**Story Tidbits: **

Subscripts are in the story and their definition will be in the author's notes.

**Stats: **Beta-Lohce Azcry. 7 ½ pages written. 7 pages typed.

**Final Word**:In a stuffy voice: Read on!

* * *

I Hate To Care

Yellow eyes glimmered bright and clear in the rearview mirror, Dante quick to catch the glowing reflection and holding its gaze for neither sight wavered from the other. Well, he called it an "it" for human eyes were not yellow. Shades of light green reflects off of eyes yes, or even a light brown, but not _yellow_. At first glance he perceived it to be the street lights playing tricks on him. However, when three separate sets of peepers held his gaze did he clear that thought.

"It would appear that some Scouts are taking residence in my territory," he said in thoughtful gesture, irritance showing on his face for more unwanted food turned up on his plate. "Oh this is just perfectly _wonderful_."

What demonic escapees were they looking for in this time of night? Scouts are human beings who wanted to live and dwell in the dark side; to gain a couple of nifty little powers to be stronger than what they deemed they weren't. To achieve this feat, they agreed to be a blabbermouth for those devils that couldn't step foot onto this plane, tracking down demons who thought that their heritage wasn't "cool" anymore and reporting back to their masters of their whereabouts. These scouts weren't of the violent type, at least from the gossip through the grapevine, and they served no threatening purpose of the physical kind; hollowed out shells of their former selves were all that they were.

However that may be, what reason did they have to follow this woman so up close and personal for? Once the delivery boy found the package, the info then traveled to their master and they sent trouble soon thereafter. Uncommon for them to follow someone in a group; _one_ person sufficed to get the job done. Demons they went after for humans should have held no interest to them.

This 'Maisha' person smelled normal. He didn't pick up any particular Hell-bred scents on her (faint hints of hazelnut didn't count) and nothing seemed out of ordinary about her appearance; save for the hair style and the bright color. She possessed pleasant characteristics and the only thing he could think of them doing was assaulting her. But they aren't the violent type; cowardly traits knocked up a notch with what tiny demonic magic flowed in their blood.

Somewhere off in the distance a horn blew, Dante already knowing the woman giving her final thanks before she drove on home. It was too late and too dark for her to do anything else _but_ that. He honked the horn a couple of times in return, looking back at the cloaked figures slowly descending into darkness.

Murders around this part of town were on the rise as of late due to a "special" visitor from down under, inducing these fiends to strike out in cowardly behavior. Citizens stayed in their homes; well the smart ones did. Those who caught wind of the rumors lived sane enough to stay at home at night, and then there were those who just...swam in a sea of hot-heads. There were plenty of times when he thought common sense would have sided with reason, but ignorance seemed to reign dominant even concerning the _simplest_ of matters.

The area he lived in allowed him the scarcity of neighbors. Many of the lonesome took up residence there, all holed up in whatever hovel of a home they had like little hermit crabs. Then again, who in their right mind would nest in an area plagued with creepy shadows and stories of sinister creatures controlling the night? Those who were probably a little bit loony themselves no doubt, taking solace in dark themes; comfort the feeling most associated with their entire existence at times.

As such, he had to guard his territory a little more thoroughly for new types of brutes wandered around, trying to find vacant homes until their business here completed in full. Many calls he received for jobs left him wary about leaving his premises, especially at night. A certain recipient came under his care and his time eradicating vermin in the outside world limited greatly, passing on jobs to Trish and Lady as a result. A time or two he thought about bugging Nero to help him out a bit, but he carried a priceless heirloom that would send certain "foreigners" into a frenzy; destroying towns just for the _fun_ of it. Needless to say that this visitant required financial services to be fleshed out for certain needs and the resources he obtained were running a little low. _Very_ low.

If his concern wasn't so high to leave and take on these jobs, he'd be more than financially sufficient to buy more items to _his_ liking. If only his lack of restraint could have held off until _today_ then he'd go home with a pizza to aid in the assortment of his thoughts.

Dante paid off his Pizza One tab of the multiple pies he consumed with voracious fervor. And the owner was forever grateful to receive the payment, all $2000 of it, and decided to permit Dante to set a tab limit before he could receive no more pizza. A tab limit of $100.

$100. Is that even a realistic amount to set for _him_? As much as he consumed the stuff on a daily basis, all he got was a _$100_ credit limit?

He mildly wondered if the owner justified some sort of revenge from the lack of payments from all those weeks. Originally he paid his tab at the end of the month, but...it kinda got off track; demons and whatnot destroying his transportation methods and he needed money to pay for the repairs. About four months ago, a grand job of immense proportions came across his way, and the payout of such a feat went towards his debt to Pizza One. He felt a bit sentimental of the parlor being so loyal to him, granting his requests for the satisfying flavors of tomato sauce, parmesan and pepperoni rolling down his throat; expanding his stomach to fill with a relaxing heat the only way pizza knew how. The manager, Clayton, never looked so happy when he received the bountiful payment. But in return for his gracious deed, his credit...extended...to only $100? A large pizza ran about eleven dollars a pop. Given his morbid consumption of the delicatessen, he only received nine pizza before he had to pay. A bit harsh in his mind.

That...that stung a bit. It...crushed his heart a _little_, like someone ripped out his heart and stuck in a pizza-molded Iron Maiden. It was _that_ intense of a heart-breaker. "After all the orders and calls I've placed, this is my reward?" Dante remembered that conversation so vividly it hurt. When the news first reached his ears of his lessened "freebies" it didn't sink into his mind initially. But when Clayton held the same "I'm sorry" expression did Dante realize the severity of the situation.

"Business is slow and the bills are racking up." A half-lie. Orders came in from other places and Clayton would, regrettably, tell his customers that they were out of their desired toppings since they all went to Dante's orders. He _had_ to "cut back" on Dante's requests, and money, until his inventory balanced out. Surely he couldn't explain the real reason to the white-haired enigma; the look on his face was downright _murderous_. When Dante turned to leave, Clayton wanted to give him his sincerest apologies, but he stood in fear when his customer's fist connected on top of a random car. The force of the hit dented the hood; the glass windows on the passenger side cracked into lines throughout the two windows. When he moved to walk away there was about a five-second layover until _all _the windows shattered, the car _now_ expressing its loud, beeping alarm to alert the world of its injury.

Andy the delivery boy had even boasted, in a sly manner, about the free time he racked up instead of waiting on hand and foot to deliver pizza to him. Dante chuckled bitterly at that; iceberg eyes boring into the man's brown ones, lips stretching to deliver a crazed shit-eating grin. Needless to say Andy never said anything smart-mouthed after that incident. However, a $100 credit limit would be of no benefit to him; the nine pizzas were consumed within an average of four days. He should be grateful all the while, Clayton reserved the divine right to refuse his services and be bothered by Dante no more. Not that that could ever happen; he was Pizza One's best _customer_...if not their only.

"My appreciation always finds a way to blow back up in my face." The words came out in a scathing bitterness, angered at the lack of self-control to use his tab more wisely. And critical of those morons who didn't buy more pizza from Pizza One.

The rain cascaded down in thick, slanted sheets, pounding down on his windshield in a relentless shower of bullet-like pellets. A final glance stole his thoughts in the rearview mirror, darkness consuming his vision for the night blanketed the area into a silent stillness. Lightning cracked the dark clouds, high-lighting the area in his vicinity to reveal a soulless landscape. Dante narrowed his eyes in speculation, knowing that the motives of these visitors would unfold to expand their intentions to the highest level. A battle of critical importance would ensue; Dante wanting to avoid the collateral damage dealt to him after the ordeal finished in its entirety. But the inevitable he combated before, and like so many other times he picked himself up and kept going forward in life after the turmoil ended. But what about now? These guests only wanted to accompany the individual back to their residential dwelling. Could it be so bad to let them take their visitant "home" with them, and spare the man of an unwanted regret?

This might be so much better with a hot pizza to aid in his thinking; frozen pizza from the store didn't do him justice.

Fifteen minutes later Dante found himself in front of his garage, hopping out the car to stand in front of it. In the absence of his vacancy, he put up a blood ward to seal anything from getting in his place, causing him to up his protective measures prior to making a decision of what to do with his guest. Concentrating a sliver of his demonic energy into his left hand made his fingernails lengthen. The black nails on his grew before using his forefinger to slice his right wrist as a small pool of blood leaked out.

"_Dispenso adque cado,_"[1] he muttered out the Latin words in the dingy night. Dante smeared his red liquid across the magically invisible ward, hearing damned voices rise up and cease immediately after the shield came down. He lifted his nose in the air to make sure Hell's creatures weren't around to get in a cheap shot, sneaking in for the prize when the ward was let down. Such a pain it was to do this, even moreso that his garage didn't have an automatic handling. It would have made getting in and out much more easier, instead of losing time to manually open and close the damn thing. Sensing the area safe he got back in his car and entered the garage, closing the door soon after. The small slit closed up prior to opening the garage the first time, making him re-open the wound to enable a blood seal to erect.

"_Percipio adque surgo,_" [2]he said the words in a strong voice, sweeping his bleeding wrist along a white, wall-like barrier that showed up before him, encoded with varying demonic symbols. Hellish voices rose up at his command, the barrier encasing the room in a brief burst of white before the space returned to its normal setting.

He let the remnants of his devil power recoil back deep within his body, shaking the last of it off while going to get the bag of groceries. How did it come to this he will never know, but his life took an abrupt turn, currently, for the worst. He shouldn't have to use one of the strongest seals to protect his territory, the mere sight of him sent the weaker fodder running. He shouldn't have to put his life on hold to care for one that didn't _care_ to return the favor. He shouldn't be limiting his daily needs to tend to the necessities of another. Why, oh why did the unexpected drop down on him at the most inconvenient of times?

He reached into the backseat for the bag of groceries, closing the door with his foot before entering the door to his living room. The smell of rain and wet wood invaded his nostrils, wrapping around his being like a snug sweater. Eyes immediately adjusted to the darkness, walking straight towards the kitchen to set the bag down on the counter. A light switch over the sink illuminated the space in a deep pale yellow, revealing a clean kitchen devoid of dirt, grime and smelly pizza boxes. Dishes, the few he maintained, shone spiffy and clean on the dish rack. The trash can contained a lemon-scented trash bag, dirtless and free of unwanted debris spilling over the top and surrounding the can's base. The white stove shown the whitest its ever been since its purchase, grease stains and crumbs well wiped away to some forgotten end of a dumpster. He _never_ thought his hands would touch another mop again, other than proposing to one when massively drunk or to take a hit, but for cleaning purposes...from his own hands?

The items were taken out of their bag, Dante reaching over to grab the fruit bowl to place the recently purchased fruit in there. Below the counter, he grabbed a pot and placed it under the faucet, preparing for the nightly routine he accustomed to for the past two weeks. This routine wouldn't even be sought after if a certain detrimental spectator didn't...plop down into his life unexpectedly. As a result, a couple of unknown habits frequented his daily routine, ranging from preparing light meals to actually _cleaning_. Cleaning as in taking a rag with unstaining agents and wiping away dust and dirt in his loft. What made these habits seem odd came the ability of doing it with precise efficiency. Normally he would groan and gripe and procrastinate to tidy up because no fun showed out of it. Now he occupied himself by any means necessary; finding distractions to stall himself from facing a hard truth. A truth that took many rejected emotions to fight through in order to face a grim reality. And in light of fighting through this reality, it came back to spit him right in his face; to taunt his efforts to try and move on ahead with his future.

How cruel of a bitch can fate be?

The front burner lit up on the left side of the stove, placing the pot of water on the fire. He leaned against the counter, thinking about the turn of events in the past couple of weeks. Why is it, he began to muse, that the dead could never stay dead? Was there some type of magic they used to bring them back a little later? Did his lack of efforts enable the ill-beings to wander around long after their expiration date? Surely Lady and Trish could handle the spawns of Hell but did they manage to let a few escape or something? If his services were employed the demons would, without a doubt, fall under the devastation of his blade. However, since he fell under lockdown without any authority to tell him so, and he needed to tend to certain matters before he resumed his hunting, first things first.

He reached up to the cabinet and pulled out a black mug, pouring the nearly boiling water into it. The box of tea he bought opened, singling out a bag of the calming liquid before dropping it in the mug. The last two packages of doughnut cakes in the cabinet opened and were set on a small black plate. He walked outside the kitchen where it housed the Brazilian walnut-furnished bar, filled with various liquors and wine of different tastes. They mostly sat up there to age gracefully, calm and undisturbed from the mouths eager to complement a celebration. Once in a while he snuck a drink a time or two but the pure awesomeness of beer won over his heart.

Under the bar housed a couple of whiskeys and water bottles, Dante keeping the whiskey here to refrain from drowning himself in it every time a harrowing problem arose. Beer he could consume and its effects couldn't pollute his mind until _much_ later, but when it came to Whiskey, _whew_, a few rounds from that and he'd be seeing stars. As silly as it may sound the disappearance of the alcohol actually worked at times. He'd truly forgotten about its existence and he rarely ventured into one of his drunken stupors because of his forgetfulness. Unfortunately his drunk-free days would clock back down to zero now that he re-discovered his hidden stash. He kept a couple bottled waters under the cabinet as well, just to add flavor to the whiskey should he need it.

Grabbing two waters he went back to the kitchen, taking a never-used baking sheet and placing the mug and doughnut cakes on there. Placing the two bottles under his arm he proceeded to go up the stairs, steeling his nerves solid to face the problem that plagued his days from a positive completion.

The knob opened up to a dark room, brightened only by a dim candle licking its last flames of light. In the middle of the room lied a four poster bed; dark blue satin sheets viewed black to the naked eye. Plush bedding accessories in the same hue and cream colors wove together to lure the invited straight in, trapping them in their soothing and warm embrace. Dark oak carved out embellished designs, small swirls adorning the wooden length surrounding the bed. Matching dressers stood on either side, a sliver handle in the shape of an eagle's wing reflecting the yellow light of the candle. Situated against the white wall stood a stand with various trinkets Dante kept close to him―well not necessarily. These little items held a particular, sinister dark magic to them. If fallen into the wrong hands, things...could get a little unsettling for him, which may have been a good thing if he wasn't under _unofficial_ house arrest.

He ventured further into the room, placing the baking sheet on the dresser to the right along with the two bottles. His footsteps were silently covered from making any noise; the soft beige carpet quieting movements made by feet trotting through the room. Upon the stand he grabbed a candle, white blossom showing on the label before he lit it with a lighter. The candle was led to where the other one clearly faded out of life, seeming to slow the usage of its wick to persevere against its imminent fate. However fate won, in the form of Dante calmly blowing out the small flame. The newly blazing taper took its place, illuminating the room with enough light to rival a torch; truly so since a sliver of light from the outside world couldn't penetrate into the room. "Maybe that light is too bright," he muttered softly, debating on whether to take action or not. "Maybe I should...man, just fuck it." He grumbled lightly, seeing no need to make a fuss over trivial matters. Dante started, a time or two, to open the blinds in his room to even out the glowing radiance. With the darkness of the clouds veiling the moon's luster and the blinds keeping any muted incandescences out, it truly did look like a cave in here. A cave in which he was invisibly shackled on a short leash; under the jurisdiction of the mysterious creature wanting to stay hidden and Dante _hated_ it.

This evasive cretin made frustrated feelings resurface, having lain to rest some years previous; when courage and determination had overridden the suffering of reality. Emotions waged a war, clashing with his carefree demeanor and threatening to take away his persona; replacing it with someone who carried a deep-seated grudge against the world. It took him a while to reign in the bouts with self-pity and blame, digging himself out of that hole threatening to keep him imprisoned on two separate occasions. Each occurrence ripped a hole through his chest as it pierced disheartened pins into his vascular organ, leaving him bitter and somber after the ordeal was over. Now this third event threatened to do the same, back like a disease determined to claim the body it once invaded and keep it until it rotted beyond comprehension.

Dante turned to leave out the room, glaring dismally at his inviting bed wishing to dive right in. He should have though; just jumped in and rested his exhausted little noggin yet that luxury belonged to another, or rather, the cryptic creature lying _in_ it. The very object of his pain and suffering, loneliness and despair, hate and rage popped up in his heart and slowly constricted it, pressing its cold fingers over the organ and slowly pushing the fingertips to connect with the rest. Damn it all if he would submit to a conforming pressure without his will, following in the lead of his pre-determined actions decided by another.

But for the moment he _had_ to. He had to let those frozen fingers frost his heart a little just to deal; to handle a situation he knew would steer towards the inevitable. The cold heart was a temporary coping mechanism from facing the unknown truth when it showed itself. Substantial reason sprouted that having a frozen heart was better than _diving_ into one from the result of pessimistic ways and means. In other words, having a heart allowed the infliction of emotional wounds to run _deep_ instead of having it blocked from receiving any.

Dante looked upon the form lying in his bed, taking his black beanie off before running a hand through his hair; grimacing as memories of a forgotten past resurfaced and poured into his mind. It overflowed with a grim fact that no matter what he did, how he did it or why, he could never escape the elusive flesh known as his other half.

His twin brother. Vergil.

* * *

A/N: [1]Latin for "dispense and fall"

[2]Latin for "gain and rise"

Chapter 3, when put together, would have been 22 pages long, or at least that's how much I wrote (0_0), so I had to chop it. But I got the whole thing chopped into two so...

I'm sorry my Vergil fanatics! He wasn't exactly ready to come out (all the way) yet ya know; had to rehearse his lines and had to have his make-up perfect **XD**! But he will soon!


	4. Hiding in the Dark

**The Story**: This little piece of fiction has an OC in it as well as Vergil...and Dante...and small appearances from the other cast of the DMC series. And other OC's as well. So please, if you are the type to hate every OC in the existence of writing, use the back button to find another story. Thank you.

**Story Tidbits:**

This is a continuation of Chpt. 3

**Stats**:Beta-Lohce Azcry. 14 pages hand-written/10 pages typed.

**Final Word**: Read on to dream on...

* * *

"_Jezebel...Jezebel won't try to deny where she came from_

_You could see it in her pride_

_And the raven in her eyes_

_Try and show her a better way_

_She'll say, 'You don't know what you've been missing.'_

_By the time she blinks, you know she won't be listening_

_'Reach for the top' she said 'And the sun is gonna shine'_

_'Every winter was a war' she said 'I want to get what's mine'"_

-Jezebel by Sadè

* * *

Hiding in the Dark

Life is incredibly bitter to those with a history of struggles and fate orchestrated the symphony of hardships. What drives one to escape this putrid show lies within sheer will and drive. Fate can stand on stage and direct which instruments will accompany the soundtrack to one's life, but she can't necessarily make one stay there and listen. If her performance is interrupted, she can notify the usher to sit the interrupter down or escort them outside, but the heckler still has the option to stay or leave when _they_ deem it so.

The option lies to remain seated and taunt the orchestrator or keep quiet; to leave in a ruckus or walk out demurely. She may pick out what section of devices to perform but one can make their own sounds to dramatize for those sections waiting to have their turn. The tools are always varied; she just pre-picks the time to play while one makes the most of that instrument.

Maisha's chosen apparatus to play on this dreaded Saturday night lied between her legs. In the back of her mind fate played the instrumental version of Sadé's _Jezebel_; the saxophone crying out the notes while the guitar whispered in the melody. In this state she couldn't stand to listen to the direct tune, trying to mess up the show by inserting off-tune drum beats and dark-piano keys, to no avail. Oh yes, the orchestrator wanted to make her listen to the harmony loud and clear, to provide the music to go along with her physical tryst she committed at the moment. However she clung to her options; she didn't have to tune into what transpired in her mind. She could very well pull out of her mental chamber and take in the present, which wasn't all that better since she escaped to her mental prison to _block_ the present out.

Maisha looked down at the closed eyes and open mouth of Nathan Crosgrove, an unwed man of two children, whose lanky body swelled between her legs. "Oh yes," he said, breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts. "Oh yes, yes, yes..." She closed him out by shutting her eyes, preparing to withdraw back into her mental paradise but quickly realized she just retreated from there, _Jezebel_ nearly entering the last melodious part of her song.

She quickened her pace as she slid up and down on his slender length, supporting herself on her hands on either side of his face; lowering to his chest as her nipples brushed against him. That little touch sent him over the edge, grabbing a solid hold over her buttocks as he released himself into ecstasy; shuddering violently before finally laying still.

Her breasts covered up the instant he let go of her, the purple and red bandeau bra covering her immodesty from the waist up when he decided to open his eyes. She swiftly slid off of him, picking up her discarded clothing and purse, making a quick dash to the bathroom. In the small but clean space she turned on the light, setting her objects on the vanity as she looked at herself in the mirror. Maisha waited for what she would feel next, and it came as certainly as it always did; first she felt empty, then lonelier than ever, and finally furiously angry.

The matron of the family drove her to be like this, to seek out those who desired to come for her like a little princess while she worked her 'Daddy knows best' line as reinforcement. Time and time again Maisha questioned issues about life, particularly about guidance, love, and relationships. When the topic got too heavy or the mother grew unsure of her answer she always resorted to that infamous line. Now as an adult, Maisha knew it wasn't a logical answer then, and it certainly didn't hold up now.

The matron always took the patron's advice; always producing some good reason for doing so. Maisha mildly wondered if this provided the mother's way of trying to avoid final responsibility for her actions. Obviously so, for her inability to handle her own problems trickled down to burden onto Maisha's shoulders.

This hindrance carried on a cycle she envisioned to break away from, to prove to the mother, and to herself, that she was more than a meek doormat and follow in the matriarch's footsteps she would _not_. The first relationship she ever had certified her envisioning as false, for her boyfriend made her feel insecure and inadequate to his glib, facile verbal cruelty. But, that stood the way she was taught. She was told that a woman is supposed to cater to a man; to cook and clean for him; to tend to his mind and body; to tend to his children and that would make a woman complete when he showed his appreciation through romance. Yet...something seemed wrong about this equation. Where did the addition of the man being a cruel, salacious, ungrateful, domineering, adulterous tyrant in response to those tedious efforts come in at?

If that dwelled in the prospect of love then why did the matron read large volumes of escapist, romantic literature to ignore his vindictive ways? Why did she appear inconspicuous and demure when out in public with him? Why did she not stand up to the patriarch when his bullying ways saddened her? Only someone willing to appease the oppressive dogmatics willed this type to lifestyle continue. Luckily for her she held fast to her courage and strength, at the age of sixteen, to leave her boyfriend before he fully took control of her mind. However, after this one life-experiencing encounter, subsequent to the things the matriarch told her about romance, after seeing the way the father treated the mother, this is what _love_ is? Full of heartache and hurt because your significant other treated you as a commodity rather than a human? If so, then the romantically inept can hold on to these immoral values while she sought other, believable means of romance.

Yet that remained the thing she _wanted_ to do. She wouldn't mind being the _modern_ housewife, taking care of the home while the hubby left his mark in the workplace. No she didn't mind any of those missions, as long as the hubby _treated_ her as his equal; to have a realistic and loving and trusting relationship of each other's virtues _and_ faults. Why couldn't the matron look past those harmful acts of the patriarch and see herself having so much better; deserving so much better? Nevertheless, before she found the time to search adequately for Prince Realistic, she had to keep chugging on in life...or go back to the one she presently attended and make the most of it.

Blinking out of her reverie she dug into her purse and pulled out a feminine toilette packet, utilizing the wet tissue to clean her lower extremities, yanking out the wet female condom in reminded disgust. She finished dressing herself back up, the thigh-high purple, one-shouldered dress fitting tight over her form. Her tresses were fingered through, untwisting the barely sweaty locks from their entanglement. A quick spritz of passion fruit and burnt orange citrus refreshed the original scent she carried, looking in the mirror to nod at herself once prior to facing the closing of the night. She wrapped the used supplies in toilet tissue and stuffed it in her purse, leaving the bathroom to find Mr. Crosgrove...still lying in the same position she left him.

This was a major mistake. She met this guy sitting on a bar stool at Pheasantry Bar 'N' Grille. There, he went on and on about how his father was an antiques dealer and his exciting-less childhood; discussing his feeling about how he felt trapped in an unhappy relationship and how having children ruined his life Expressing his boring job as a lab technician and his even more irritating co-workers. Nearly two hours later she realized that Nathan wasn't a brooding and sensitive man, but a crashing bore. Notwithstanding, she skipped her sob story and headed straight to the point, voicing her need to gain financial stability to refrain from moving back with those "adults" she called her parents. And like any sexually lacking sap who could care less for her reasons, he eagerly accepted her offer; feeling slightly sympathetic to her plight.

Maisha didn't want to think of herself as a tart; sleeping with men just because they didn't value their relationships or for her pleasure; not for one-night stands or to be a home wrecker. She did this strictly for _survival_. Making $8.25/hr. wasn't exactly keeping her afloat in the finances department, and she supported her determination to make a life for herself separate from what the mother envisioned. And she insisted on achieving this lifestyle by any means necessary.

Perhaps, by romanticizing her actions, she kept herself from resorting to self-inflicting means to escape the life she'd been forced to lead. Also, in a sense, to refrain from labeling herself the "P" word because that's what her actions spoke, regardless of the way she looked at it.

The arrangement they mutually agreed upon existed as a half-now, half-later scenario; the first half of monetary sustenance was received prior to the physical "connection" and when the deal completed in full, she received the rest of her payment.

The sooner he gathered himself to, the quicker she could leave this scene locked away in the cobwebs of forgotten memories. Treating this deplorable situation as an anonymous event enabled her to cope with the after effects, like...straying away from any mixed feelings the _other_ party might start to develop.

"Can't go to sleep yet, cowboy." Maisha crooned the words out in a firm voice, letting him know that his end of the bargain needed to be upheld. _Now_.

Two deep breaths exhaled from his person, opening up gray eyes to sparkle lustfully in the sheen of moonlight. The bed in which he lied in nearly swamped the lithe man, making his tanned skin appear pale in the silver bedding. Nathan rested as naked as the day he entered this world, exposed in full for her eyes to take in, which wasn't all that impressive to look at. Nonetheless, beggars can't be choosers so he could go outside in his birthday suit for all she gave a damn.

In light of giving him another stern warning, that _limp_ impersonation started to drift awake the longer he looked at her, intending for round 2 to be well underway. Yeah right, like that's going to happen. _Might want to make an appointment with your right hand buddy!_ This is what she wanted to avoid. She only did what she needed to do and then move on past this. Unknown as to whether he coupled with his significant other, but she would not replace her in that department even if he promised to pay all her bills. Not that she couldn't take care of herself, just that barely making it with almost little to no money for groceries and saving drove her to find other means of stability.

Her hand lifted up to the birthmarks on her neck, veering towards repulsion at the feeling of him tasting her there. An indescribable tingling rushed throughout her body when he did so, slowly awakening her senses to tune into her surroundings. It felt as if something shot into her body and dumped a day's worth of energy into her, invigorating her like she woke up from the best sleep in her life. Yet...she couldn't feel this refreshed just from being with this man. It never happened before, so what purpose did it hold now? Nathan continued gazing at her, his lackluster length engorged to continue receiving her pleasuring gifts.

Maisha looked slightly bothered now.

"That was an interesting adventure―" she started, trying to let him down easy but eager to get out of there. "―but I have to get going; really early day tomorrow." When she saw that he made no movement to get her stuff, she took it upon herself to make the point clear by slipping on her strappy black heels. Shortly after, she heard the springs on the bed moving, hearing clothes rustle and mumbled sighs of disappointment. She wasn't going to linger any more than she should and he needed to realize that. Feelings of attachment she wouldn't allow him to have, for in situation types as these, emotional complications overshadowed logical thought.

"Do you really have to go?" He sounded so forlorn and desperate, willing for this night to continue, but she won't even consider the prospect of that happening. "I mean, we-we won't be bothered by anyone―" he came to her with $500 in his hands, basketball shorts loosely sagging on his hips, "―or...or I could come to your place."

_The nerve of this man!_ "I know, but I have a really busy day and I can't afford to be late." She said her words sweetly yet firmly, taking the money after she put on her black, leather jacket.

"Well how-how e-early do you have to be where―"

"Six. In the morning." Maisha pocketed the money in her purse, seeing the warning signs of an unsatisfied, needy man pushing to want more than what she offered. The agreement settled in full, and a new one will not be "verbally" written until much time later, if at all.

"Well, I should get going."

In her mind she started to give him a hug or a kiss, in spite of wanting him to realize that a sensitive relationship would not form out of this. Hell, she didn't even know if they might ever meet like this again, not that she wanted to but she didn't want any type of connected strings linking them together.

With a final nod and a sweet smile shadowing her tormented feelings, she headed out of his townhouse, intending on going home and washing away the remnants of this meaningless transaction; sulking in a hot tub until she felt better about herself. Sometimes falling into a void took her mind off of everything completely. And depending on what happened or what she went through currently, it helped.

"But hey, is there like...a number I could call you with?"

_Aw, shit, here we go_. "I do, but it's something not many people have."

"Why? Are you hiding from an ex or something?"

_Yup. This was a mistake. Should have just stuck with Mark._

"No." She clacked her heels across the walkway that led to the outside gate, wanting to tell Nathan to fuck off because it wasn't anything to concern himself with. After all, she didn't ask why he felt bitter towards his baby mama or why he felt disgusted with his children; he poured that information out all on his own. "I just have to know you really well to see you as a friend." The only contacts in her phone contained the names of Halima Raymond, Mark McJensen, Pizza One, Matthew Greene, and her landlord, Derrick Grylls. Nathan's number rested on a piece of paper in her purse where it will stay until she threw it away in the trash. First sign of someone wanting more romantically she shut them off. A partnership she didn't _want _right now and definitely _not_ with him.

"So what do I have to do to gain your number and be your friend?" They now made it to the gate, exiting out the iron-casted door to the sidewalk where her truck parked some yards away. The leather jacket closed tighter around her body, the cold, cloudy night temperature snapping the warmth away from her being. By the time she walked to her car halfway down the street, her legs would equal the equivalent of a Popsicle. Nathan may have severe frostbite by the time he went back in his home, Speaking of which, why wasn't he back there already? Then again, she made that thought about him going outside naked and not caring...

"Hey, how 'bout I take you out to lunch tomorrow? We could meet up after you're done with your day. You sure you don't want me to call you?" He jumped in front of her, shirtless and fervent to try anything to be with her. Obviously he could care less about his responsibility to his family, and where his responsibility ended with them, it _wasn't_ going to be picked up by her.

_Dammit, can't he take the hint!_ "Um, I'll have to see." She walked around him to continue on her route, looking back once to throw him a fake wink. "I will be pretty busy so-ooh it's cold!" A particularly harsh gust of wind blew at her, whipping against her legs with biting ferocity. She had to stop a moment until the chill lessened for her to be able to walk again. The woman turned around to tell him to head back inside...and stopped breathing midway.

Standing behind her Nathan stood covered from head to toe in _ice_, his right arm outstretched to her while his eyes bulged in horror. Icicles hung from his body, little drops of snowflakes adorning the small crevices visible on his form. She took two steps back, eyes wide in fright for the man she just committed relations with took on the contour of a human ice sculpture. _I don't_ _know why he didn't go back inside!_ Her mind managed to force out the thought but her heart spoke in a different manner; one that said Mr. Crosgrove will never live to see the things he took for granted again.

A high-pitched, primal scream let out deep within the confines of her throat, hands covering her mouth for a light breeze tilted Nathan's statue back, breaking into a thousand pieces of little red chunks when it hit the ground. The scene reminded her of that _Terminator 2_ movie when the bad cop fell into a geyser of liquid nitrogen and shattered when pierced by a bullet. Only Nathan wasn't pierced by the Terminator but by the monstrosity creeping out of the shadows.

Peeking through the cracks between the clouds the Lunar crescent high-lighted a fiendish creature to her left, eyes large and black as coal glittering ominously at her. It crouched low to the ground, a pair of webbed hands and feet supporting its weight. Its spine protruded to stretch against its skin; clearly showing the spinal cord and able to count its vertebrae. Sharp, jagged teeth faded away into darkness once again; the clouds seeming to veil the monster in its complete silhouette. Slivers of moonlight revealed and shaded the beast coming towards her, stringy blue hair sticking out against cloud-white skin. Subtle the skin tone may be, it complemented the dark blues and gray hues of the night, blending in with the dimness until ready to expose itself.

Saliva pooled out the corner of its mouth, crystallizing into an icicle when it made contact with the ground. As it advanced forward its claws made a 'tinking' sound when it connected with the ground, leaving small particles of ice in its wake.

Faster than her mind could tell her what to do, she immediately turned and started sprinting in her heels, grabbing the keys out her purse to chirp the alarm. Halfway on the race to her car she ran out into the middle of the street, hoping to see someone driving her way to help her. Somewhere along the throes of her panicked thinking, something sharp and frigid grabbed a hold of her left ankle, sending her soaring a few feet in the air prior to rolling uncontrollably on the ground.

Stabbing volts of pain pierced her legs and arms, warning her body to stay on the ground until the pain decreased but she chose not to listen. The fear fueling her insides kept her moving, rather pitifully, across the ground before she resumed to her escape plan. A cold grasp tightly enclosed around her ankle, scraping her knees and legs on the ground until it flipped her onto her back. In full view of the monster she saw that it had large nostrils, scrunching and twitching as it inhaled deeply, eyes briefly turning white before it flashed back to those soulless, raven-colored orbs. It was then that it decided to snort out icicles from its nose, grabbing both of her hands as it got on top of her, knees pressing into her stomach.

"_Oh no...no, no, no!_" Maisha let out blood-curdling screams, squirming onto her side as she tried pushing back against the force holding her captive. "_HELP ME!_" She screamed the words louder and louder, stamina growing much weaker for the monster pressed its knees harder into her mid-section. To drown out her words the beast screamed down at her, echoes bouncing out like a goat being branded with a casting iron. Fear ran rampant throughout her blood; her heart pounded forcefully all through her ribcage before the inevitable action of killing her commenced. With eyes tightly closed and wet streams pooling out her tear ducts she sobbed, anticipating on those claws to tear into her flesh at any moment.

Visions such as these only transpired in one's vivid imagination, locked away in the creative section of their minds to gaze upon it in privacy. Obviously someone set their illusion free or it broke out of its aesthetic compound to come and maim her. Maybe it chose its victim at random or it targeted her specifically. The creature could have easily frozen and killed her as well; for what reason did it keep her alive?

Broken exhales of fright escaped her mouth, shuddering shakily as she felt the beast's cool breath on her face. She pressed harder into the paved road, bones groaning in protest from their already abused state.

The snarls it emitted caused her ears to ring, drowning out any sounds her hearing authorized to picked up. Hitherto she could still pick up vibrations beneath her, nerves tuning in to the pulsing reverberations aside from the physical property pushing down on top of her body. Was the ground cracking underneath her? Did this monstrosity intend to take her back to its dwelling deep underground, or even way _down_ there due to its Hellish nature? Or maybe this guy was an escaped mental patient; might certainly explain his eccentric appearance.

She resumed her futile struggling, muscles aching for the thing nearly evaporated her strength to the point of unconsciousness, rendering her to lie still after her little outburst of energy. Trembling on the ground continued to lightly shake her, growing in volume and intensity as her hearing slowly came back to her. Vaguely it sounded like a motor rapidly approaching, headed straight in her direction. Oh, she had to be saved, she just had to; anyone with eyes could see that something was amiss right in the _middle_ of the street.

Just as it may be, why couldn't she see any headlights? Even with her sight closed away from the creature before her, she could "see" the shadow of light shining over her eyelids―

"AAAGGH!" The blue-haired fiend inhumanely shrieked in agony from tiny little pellets piercing into its flesh, Maisha screaming for the whizzing projectiles scuttled too closely to her face. Screeching tires and missing lights belonging to a rumbling engine appeared, uncovering the nightfall blanketing the area in dark blue saturation. She no longer felt the heavy weight holding her captive, free to move her limbs away from that Hellish menace. Her body moved too quickly, absconds of pangs ebbing in her legs for her busted kneecaps prevented her from moving.

The ringing slowly dissipated from within her ear, a voice calling out to her above the indescribable sound of an injured being. Her elbows tried supporting her upper weight, yelping out in discomfort a moment later for her hands were suddenly frost bitten. She quickly shifted her attention to her palms that were harder than a block of ice, blue-tipped at the fingertips and swollen. The beast must have somehow made her forget her physical pain; too engrossed with its frightening appearance to remember about her injuries. Now free to move, the affliction came back in double the strength; the black-eyed monster probably extending her injury list further.

It felt like a thousand tiny needles pricked and prodded her hands, intensifying in sync with the blood pumping, miserably, into her iced fingertips. Her arms ached from the volatile tumble and their once imprisoned captivity, knowing that ugly bruises would show up to mar her skin. Despite her heart pumping furiously to keep up with her panicked state, it nearly imploded when a fresh batch of adrenaline sunk into her bloodstream; the result of the white-skinned fiend attempting another grab at her.

More bullets passed by her, accompanied by some feet running up to help her. A hand grabbed her left arm and threw it over a broad shoulder, intending on hoisting her up. The thought relaxed her mind that a policeman arrived, but the pain she exerted when moved from her planked position gave way to the adrenaline continuing its flow of actions. Before she could tell her savior that his rescuing methods prevailed a highly welcomed but bad idea, he hoisted her up to stand, Maisha shouting out in torment. Her legs collapsed under her weight; the straightening of her legs feeling like dead weight and the bending of her bloody knees snapping from suffering hurt. Her ribs grated against her savior, irritating the bruises that formed there. The stretching of her battered arms helped out none; her aching, rimed hands gaining in magnitude for the frost seemed to have eatened away any movement within them.

That monster had done a bang-up job of immobilizing her.

"Hey, are you all right?" The man half-held her as she sagged back to the ground, searing-hot aches starting to get the best of her as the cold gave the impression to have torn through her skin. "Hey, can you walk?" His voice sounded urgent, fingers lightly tracing around points of injury, seeing how to grab her without hurting her too much.

_There goes that familiarity again_. Maisha shakily looked up at her rescuer, electric blue eyes staring down at her with needy concern. A patch of dark clouds parted to reveal luminescent light; the light shining on white hair to bathe it in a silver sheen. So familiar he seemed yet she couldn't place where she'd seen him from. Perhaps she could recall him in her memory if her shattering teeth could cease to make her brain jump around in her skull...

Just beyond him she saw a car with a metal grille, red paint boldly showing in the..._Hey...it's...that guy...he, he...Dan-Dan..._

"Dan-Daniel?" That was it wasn't it? Isn't his name Daniel; the guy who rested some quarters short at the grocery store on Friday?

His eyebrows rose a little, quickly replacing his surprised visage with a stern one. He scanned the area, eyes setting on the thing that originally pinned her down. "Close enough." He muttered more to himself, stooping down to hook an arm under her knees and one under her ribcage. "Sorry darling, but you gotta move." In one swift motion he carried her in his arms, avoiding her groan-induced holler at the misery he caused by moving her so suddenly. He rushed her over to the driver's side of his car, gently dropping her in the driver's seat.

Blood splattered across the windshield, her protector shielding his arm away from her attacker, closing the door with his free hand before rearing back and punching the fiend away from him. Her fists equaled to that of a block of ice, digits chilled from their regular intervals of movement. Violent shudders wracked through her frame, hugging herself to insert warmth back into her body. She wanted to turn on the heater in his ride but hesitated; not knowing which button to push or if he even felt comfortable with people touching his stuff. Especially when she nearly flavored his car in pepper spray previously.

Maisha glanced upon the windshield, waves of cold water creeping into her veins and instantly freezing them a moment later. From what she could see the two enigmas moved back and forth at each other, slugs from a firearm aiming and shooting at the sly-moving creature.

_So he carried a weapon after all_. She felt slightly safe after that notion, but where did he come from? Did he follow her after she left him at the stop sign? Wait, of course he couldn't, she kept looking in her mirror to see if anyone trailed after her. Did he happen to be in the neighborhood and heard her screams, immediately rushing to the scene of action? And what kind of gall did this "Daniel" have to just bravely attack this escaped mental patient? Yet she lived to be no fool. Humans don't crawl around on all fours nor do they have black, sharpened fingernails. Humans are not genetically that _white_ of a skin tone, with eyes as dark and endless as the darkest pit. They don't turn people to ice on a whisper of a breath and they certainly don't talk with the voice of an animal.

What else could this abomination of a specimen be, her mind pondered as the chill appeared to worsen, causing her to crouch over to try and retain warmth. Words from her customer came flooding back to her memory; of how he dealt with fiends of the 'unholy' sort and of his prevention of murdered women. But there was no such things as supernatural occurrences and even if there came close to one, it always suggested a rigged or manipulated segmented for others to believe. That was what the elders said, that's what her doctors said, and that's what the general populace held true...according to their judgments, or lack thereof.

In her life experience she _imagined_ that she saw demonic faces and ghostly apparitions right in front of her. She _imagined_ that they tried talking to her in the darkness of her room. She _imagined_ that she saw visions of desolate souls trying to reach out to her, in a desperate plea to escape from whatever torment they underwent. Unfortunately for her, her imagination was an actual reality; those visions of the damned appearing right in front of her, ingrained forever into her mind as a youth. And now it seemed that the sights of a long forgotten past came back to show her that she cannot run from it, no matter how hard she wills it away or ignores it. If she tried to manipulate her thoughts towards denial then physical evidence, she could _not_ ignore, turned up in her presence, right as it did now.

She wanted to shout out to her rescuer to get out of there, to cut the brave act and to call for backup, if he was an officer. He didn't have to get himself killed for her, it wasn't worth it. One blow from that monster's breath and his life was over. She didn't want that to happen to him, not after the death Nathan just endured. _"Nathan."_

Her heart curled in on itself, sorrow filling up the vascular organ for her suitor met his end at the hands of a monster coming after her. How was this going to be explained to the police; to his family? Bile rose up in her throat, threatening to splatter all over her legs at the mere mention of what played out earlier.

She knew that tough times were ahead, memories of a dark secret wanted to be forgotten would resurface, reinforcing her beliefs of what she _wanted_ to stay false and coming into light as the truth. She had to move away from where she lived previously to will away the bad memories left marred into her soul. That's what one did when death and solitude ran rampant close within one's vicinity, right? Maisha reasoned with herself that by starting life anew insisted on erasing her past, yet the _damned_ part of it followed her as a constant reminder of who she is and what she came from; a life reeking from misery and loneliness.

_Oh Masozi, why did you leave me in such a desperate time..._

* * *

A/N: And the secrets just keep tumbling out on you my poor Maisha. Aw, your life will sort out...so much _later_ in the story. :0

A quick shout out to my beta for looking over some things for me since my brain wants to focus on my cold rather than my thoughts.

P.S. On a side note, has anyone ever felt like a roll of barbed wire was stuck on one side of their throat and they couldn't cough, eat or drink properly? Anyone? It's...it's just me then...it's just...oh, okay. 0_o


End file.
